How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!
To cast aside from Poetry, all that is not Inspiration
The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.
The Goddess Fortune is the devil's servant, ready to kiss any one's ass.
The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark, Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.